


Hide and Seek

by GarrulousGryffindor (thegalenwrites)



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Mafia/Gang Related, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-25
Updated: 2014-05-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 23:49:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1366249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegalenwrites/pseuds/GarrulousGryffindor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A 'modern' AU set in 'roaring twenties' prohibition, mob-run Chicago. Story based on a picture drawn by the lovely and talented doubleleaf.</p><p>Malik is trying to squeeze his way into the good graces of the local mob Boss, and Altair is tasked with overseeing the whole initiation. For two guys that seem so up front about everything, they don't expect the secrets they discover about each other. </p><p>Slow build (UST) type of story. Characters will be tagged in as I write them in. Rating subject to change. [ I'm terrible at writing summaries ^.^; ]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings! Not going to lie, inspiration for this story is completely to blame on [this amazing picture](http://fav.me/d49r5k7) done by doubleleaf over on deviantArt. If you haven't seen her stuff, then you're doing yourself a disservice. 
> 
> I feel I should warn you now, I am a slow updater due to college work and my job, so updating will be sporadic and impulsive. Kind of like me XD I hope that you enjoy it all the same!

The year is 1922 and the weather is unseasonably warm in downtown Chicago. A light breeze is the only reprieve from the humidity that hangs in the air. Malik hears voices at the street entrance of the alley he’s waiting in and finds that the back of his dress shirt sticks to his skin when he turns to look. A woman laughs loudly and Malik relaxes a little bit. Definitely not his contact. He loosens his tie marginally and uses a handkerchief to dab a little sweat from his forehead, but he keeps his jacket on. There’s a certain level of professionalism that he wants to exude and it wouldn’t do to show up looking sloppy. He adjusts the black fedora on his head and takes another drag from his cigarette, trying not to pace. Pacing would make it seem as though he were nervous, and he doesn’t want to give them any insight into how he’s feeling. They’re late. He doesn’t know whether he should be surprised or not.

Some fifteen minutes later, he hears quiet footsteps down the alley. It seems to be coming from both directions. He flicks the cigarette he’d only half finished into a puddle and waits. When he looks up at last, he sees two men blocking either end of the alleyway. They’re burly sorts. The muscle of this particular outfit. So they plan to intimidate him, do they? He supposes that he _did_ expect this to some extent.

“Evening,” one of the grunts addresses him, a car pulls up in the alley and stops just beside them. Malik looks between them nonchalantly, and then to the one that had spoken in the first place. “Boss wants a word with you,” he adds after a moment, nodding to the guy behind Malik.

A rush of cool air hits his scalp as his hat is knocked off, and he finds that his eyes are being covered by a blindfold. He doesn’t react or struggle, just stands there patiently as it is tied around his head. The guy is a little rougher than is strictly necessary, but again, he supposes they’re just trying to shake him up a little. These guys get off on fear and beating on the weak. Malik isn’t about to give them the satisfaction. And besides, if he flinches, the Boss will hear about it. 

He is pushed into the backseat of the car, and he sits comfortably, turning towards where the door must be and speaking in an even tone. “Don’t forget my hat. I like that one.”

“So you’re a wise guy,” the brute with a voice declares, a hint of amusement in his voice. “We’ll see about that.”

It takes them about half an hour to get where they’re going. Malik can’t help but think that they took a lot of detours to confuse him of the whereabouts of this particular hideout. If so, they just wasted their own time and his. He counted every turn and how long it took between each of them. Retracing his steps back to this place wouldn’t be overly difficult. By his estimation, they haven’t actually gone that far from the place where they’d picked him up. He’s pulled out of the car before he can think too much about it, and marched down some steps. He can hear jazz music and laughing, loud voices. It would make sense to have an ‘office for relations’ in the back of a club. The mob were behind all the speakeasies anyway.

With one last shove, he’s pulled to a stop and the blindfold is removed from his eyes. The lighting is dim, so it doesn’t take too long for his eyes to adjust. His hat is forcefully pushed into his chest and then the two meatheads leave the room. A girl who can't be more than seventeen greets him with a smile. She takes the hat from his hands and puts it on his head cheekily, letting her fingers slide off the brim with a flourish. She’s wearing a beaded flapper dress that doesn’t leave much to the imagination. Slipping an arm through his, she guides him towards a door in the back. Her voice is soft and pleasant. “This way please.”

They enter a smoky room off to the side, where five men are playing cards. It isn’t until he hears the door click behind him, that Malik realises the girl has left him here. He removes his hat again and tucks it under his arm, running a hand through his short dark hair. No sense in offending the Boss by being disrespectful. 

“Alright, let’s see it,” a large man says around the tip of his cigar. His face is kindly enough, but there’s something about his eyes that bothers Malik. His eyes sweep the table and he notes that this hand is between the large man and a younger, mousey looking one. The others have all folded and watch patiently. The portly one lays his hand on the table, and his grin becomes less kindly and more predatory. “Straight.”

The young man nods for a moment and then grins, laying his own five cards on the table, “Four of a kind. Sorry Boss.”

He’s in the process of pulling the chips towards him when a dagger pins his hand to the table. Literally. Right through the centre of the palm. The younger man screams as blood pools on the table, but no one else at the table seems concerned or uncomfortable at the display. Malik on the other hand, works very hard to control his surprise. He hadn’t even seen the man in question until the dagger had embedded itself in the table. He’d seemingly appeared out of the shadows from nowhere. The man who had pinned his hand with the dagger, grabs his sleeve and rips up, tearing the jacket open. It reveals several face cards and a few aces. 

The large man, who Malik has come to assume might be the Boss, tuts and leans forward. Grabbing the younger man’s wrist, he twists his hand around the dagger and the young man cries out again as more blood pools on the table and into the cards. “Donny. You disappoint me. I’ve been nothing but kind to you and your family, and now you spit in my eye and try to steal from me.”

“No. No! Never! I don’t know how-”

His feeble protests against the accusation are cut short when the man from the shadows punches him hard across the face. He moves quick like a viper, all precision and not all force, unlike the guys that had collected Malik from the alley. This man is far more dangerous. Malik makes a note of it.

“Get him out of my sight,” the large man mutters, waving his hand.

Shadow guy removes his dagger cleanly from the kid’s hand and tucks it back into a holster under his jacket, he forces the guy out of his chair and through a back door. When it clicks shut, another side door opens and a different girl in a flapper dress enters with a tray of glasses and what looks like a bottle of whiskey. 

“It’s Malik, isn’t it? Your last name is a mouthful, so you’ll forgive me if I don’t get all formal with you,” the large man addresses Malik at last. “Please. Sit.”

Malik does as he’s bid and sits in the seat that has just been vacated by the kid who probably won’t be alive for too much longer. The girl pours him a glass of whiskey and smiles brightly at him as she hands it to him. She leaves the bottle and leaves the room, but not before the boss gives her a slap on the ass on the way by. A couple of the guys around the table chuckle as she let’s out a surprised sound and hurries out of the room. Malik just takes a sip of his whiskey. 

“It is. Sir,” he responds at last, accepting a cigarette from the man beside him and lighting up with the rest of them. 

The Boss takes in his appearance with painstaking scrutiny. He can’t tell if he likes what he sees or not. Malik keeps his expression carefully detached and neutral either way. No one seems to comment or care that the table in front of them is still mostly covered in blood, they just place their drinks on the table nonchalantly. 

“My cousin Vinnie seems to think that I should give you some work. Says you’re trustworthy. Good at what you do.” The Boss pauses and takes another long pull from his cigar, grinning. “What exactly is it that you do?”

Malik hears the door open behind him, but doesn’t hear anyone enter. No one comes into his line of sight either as he hears it click shut again. He wonders if the man from the shadows is just standing behind him, waiting for him to say something stupid so that he can be disposed of too.

“I’m a problem solver.” Malik settles on at last.

The Boss stares at him for a minute before he laughs heartily, and the others join in. They stop when he does. He’s still smiling at Malik though and he points his cigar at him as he chuckles. “I like you already. Problem solver, he says. Well, lucky for you boy, I’ve got lots of problems that need solving.” He looks over Malik’s shoulder and Malik tries not to tense. “Altair. Escort our ‘problem solver’ home and arrange to take him with you tomorrow. We’ll see if you’re as good as Vinnie says you are.”

Malik nods and stands, knowing a dismissal when he sees one. “Yes sir.”

He turns and is met by sharp amber eyes from under a grey fedora, tilted low over his face. Even in the shadows, those eyes pin him to the spot and he feels as though they can see right through him. The shadow man, or he supposes ‘Altair’, is wearing a decidedly cold expression. He looks almost bored with the whole thing, and not like he has just maimed a kid. Nodding towards the door, he leaves and Malik follows. He puts his hat back on his head and adjusts his coat around his shoulders. The air outside seems almost chilly after being in that small smoky room. The bright red glow from the end of a cigarette is all Malik sees further along the dark alley to suggest that Altair isn’t waiting for him. He lights his own cigarette and walks quickly until he’s caught up with the man. He refuses to run after him, on principle. 

After five minutes of walking in silence, Malik flicks his cigarette to the sidewalk and holds out a hand to the quiet man. “I’m Malik,” he offers, “Malik Al-Sayf.”

The other man looks between them at the hand offered, but doesn’t take it. He takes another long pull from his cigarette and breathes out an “I know” with the smoke. 

Malik’s brows furrow and he takes his hand back, putting it in his pocket. “Right. And you’re Altair, I gather.” The man says nothing, just takes another drag from his cigarette. Malik would sigh but he feels as though that would give the other man too much satisfaction. It’s just a feeling he has. That’s fine. Malik isn’t big on talking either.

They walk for another twenty minutes until Altair pauses outside of a small five story walk-up and Malik is abruptly shaken from his thoughts when he realizes that they’ve paused outside of his apartment building. “How did you-”

Altair cuts him off with a shrug and flicks his nearly finished cigarette into the street. “Be ready at five tomorrow,” he tells Malik evenly. And then he’s walking away without a word. 

Malik stands there a little stupidly for a few more minutes before a chill goes through him and he shivers. They know where he lives and he never told them. He wonders how long they’ve been researching him. Again, he’s not sure why he’s surprised.

Deciding he needs a drink, Malik turns away from his apartment and heads down the street and into yet another dark alley. He knocks on a particular door with a small white x in the bottom left corner and a shuttered window in the door opens. The person behind it must decide that he’s alright looking because it opens and he is allowed into the illegal club. He goes through two doors before the loud jazz music greets him and the smoke assaults his senses. Grabbing a stool at the far end of the bar, he orders a beer. He’s just finished lighting his cigarette when a drunk man stumbles over and sits beside him, leaning on him for a moment before ordering a drink and resting his head precariously on one hand, bent elbow being supported by the bar. 

“They know where I live,” Malik mutters under his breath, taking a sip of his beer and watching the dancers on the other side of the bar. “Not my real place. The one where I’m staying now.”

“We expected that,” the ‘drunk’ man mumbles and then laughs hysterically and claps Malik on the shoulder before going back to leaning on his hand. “They’ve been checking you out for a few months. Think they bought it?”

Malik takes another sip of his beer and nods slowly. “Going out with this ‘Altair’ character tomorrow. For ‘problem solving’.”

The ‘drunk’ man snorts into his drink and mumbles something darkly under his breath that Malik doesn’t catch. “Keep in touch Mal.”

Malik drains the rest of his beer in one go and swallows hard. “Expect to find the body of a kid over the next few days.”

Giving Malik a grim look, the ‘drunk’ man suddenly shoves him and Malik pushes him off of his stool yelling something about getting the hell away from him. When the man has left, Malik orders another beer, lights another cigarette and watches the dancers behind the bar. He doesn’t really care much for the dancers, but it’s a distraction and his thoughts are way too all over the place right now for him to think about anything else. Especially not sharp amber eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are love! Cheers! -GG


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the archive warnings really start to come into play. Fair warning, there's blood, death and rough stuff in this chapter. Ye be warned mateys.
> 
> I couldn't get this chapter quite the way I wanted it, but I figure I've spent enough time fiddling around with it. I hope you enjoy it all the same.

It is quarter to five by the time Malik makes his way downstairs the next day. The air isn’t as humid as the day before, but the temperature is still high and Malik’s lips are parched. He is immediately rethinking going out for drinks last night, being dehydrated today will only cause problems. Even still, he’s consumed copious amounts of water, coffee and breakfast foods and he feels like he can at least _look_ like he had a well rested night. He adjusts his gun holster under his suit jacket for the fourth time. The weight of it feels off. He’s had to replace his Colt Police Positive Special with something a little less credible. The difference in weight between his old revolver and this previously owned M1911 pistol isn’t much, but it is enough that it doesn’t feel quite right. 

The sun hangs low along the horizon but it still feels too bright so Malik finds himself tilting his hat lower over his eyes. Sitting on the front step to his building, he lights a cigarette and he waits. This ‘Altair’ had told him to be ready at five, but he hadn’t said where they would meet. Malik could only assume that Altair would be picking him up here for whatever it was they’d be doing today. A sense of unease fills him as he thinks about what they might do to resolve the Boss’s ‘problems’. The Department has given him a bit of leeway in what he can and can’t do while he’s undercover, but at the end of the day he is still a police officer and killing innocents is just not an option. They didn’t prepare him for what he should do if he’s ever asked to do something like that.

Having been undercover for almost a year and a half, Malik has had to do some unpleasant things to build up his reputation in the Chicago underworld. The Department had even gone so far as to make it look like he killed a few people. Snitches who wanted out of Chicago and to start fresh elsewhere agreed to be found ‘murdered’, at least according to the paper, and while their killer was never discovered, convenient rumours were spread amongst the right people that Malik was the reason. He is currently responsible for four carefully planned deaths over his undercover period. What happens when they expect him to do it for real?

His fears are momentarily put on hold when a nondescript black vehicle pulls up beside the curb of his apartment building. It waits. Malik frowns at it for a moment before getting up and carefully approaching the car. There’s a man in the front seat, his hat pulled low over his eyes and the shadow obscuring most of his face, but Malik recognizes the sharp set of his jaw. He’s looking out the driver side window, just waiting patiently. 

Malik gets into the passenger side and closes the door, looking expectantly over at Altair for details on their mission. A briefing. A ‘good evening’. Anything. He gets nothing but silence as Altair starts the engine and pulls out into the road, driving to some unknown destination. Malik’s not a big fan of unknowns. It’s commonplace now to deal with them as an undercover agent, but that doesn’t mean he enjoys them any more. He prefers being as prepared as possible. Know your exits. Have a backup plan. Make sure your gun is in perfect working order. It was the reason he was still alive.

It is another fifteen minutes of silence before Malik finally speaks up. 

“Are you going to tell me what we’re doing today?” he asks, glancing over at the man driving the car.

“Nope.”

Malik almost rolls his eyes, but holds himself back. “Not much of a talker are you?”

“I believe in action over words.”

Malik actually does roll his eyes at this, turning to glare out the passenger side window. “Why am I not surprised to hear that?” he mutters under his breath. He notices out of his peripherals that Altair turns to look at him, but he ignores it in favour of watching what streets they are turning down. Know your exits after all. 

They pull up in an alley beside a few local shops and Altair exits the car, once again not saying anything. Malik huffs a little before exiting and following, he hasn’t been told to stay put so he figures he is supposed to go with him. That rubs him the wrong way to start with. Malik isn’t big on following anyone, let alone some punk ass gangster who thinks he is all brooding and mysterious with this no talking business. 

They enter one of the grocers on the block through a back door which leads to their storage area. There are a few employees unpacking crates. Upon seeing Altair and Malik, the older one motions for the younger employees to leave. He approaches them when the door closes and his employees are safely out of the room.

“I know I’m late on my payment, but business has been slow and-”

“Mr. Borgia does not care for your excuses William,” Altair drawls, leaning against a table casually. Malik looks between them with what he hopes is a neutral expression.

“Please. _Please!_ I’m sorry. I promise I’ll have the money by the end of the month. I will! Just… give me more time. Please…” the man pleads, sweat visible on his forehead and eyes shiny with tears and a deep rooted fear. 

Altair shakes his head slowly, as though he is disappointed in the man. “You know that’s unacceptable William. You knew the terms. You provide the money. We provide the protection. No money. No protection. It has to be simple, even for you.”

Altair unholsters his gun and checks the cylinder. The man starts sobbing, falling to his knees, muttering apologies. This isn’t going to end well. All Malik needs is another civilian death on his conscience. Malik starts to panic, trying to come up with some sort of solution. And quick.

Altair is just starting to walk around a few crates to get to the man when Malik steps in. Grabbing the man by the front of his shirt, he hauls him up and throws him against the wall once and then twice. He sees Altair pause on the outside of his vision, observing the scene. “What did you think was going to happen by not paying?” he yells at the man, hauling back and punching him hard in the nose. The man mutters something and Malik leans in close to listen. “What’s that? You’ll have to speak up William. Make it good.”

He isn’t really interested in anything this William has to say, Malik is mostly just concerned about saving his life. Killing innocents is out of the question, no matter how deeply he is under cover. Still leaned in close like he is listening to what the man has to say, he lowers his voice to barely a whisper. “If you want to live you do as I say. I’m going to rough you up. When I throw you against the table, you go down and you _don’t_ get back up. Understand?” He whispers fast so Altair doesn’t get suspicious and he hopes William gets everything he is saying. “Now keep begging like I’m going to kill you.” Malik shakes his head as he leans back, raising his voice to a normal level again. “That’s pathetic. What’s Mr. Borgia going to do with your groceries? Are you suggesting he can’t buy his own? We want _money_ William. Not carrots. Not potatoes. Cash.”

Malik knees the man in the stomach and while he is hunched over, he punches him in the head again. His stomach clenches uncomfortably as he thinks about what he is doing. Still, it’s better to get the shit beaten out of you and live to see another day than to get a bullet in the head. That’s what he reminds himself as he grabs the man by the scruff of the neck, turns him around and smashes him face first into the concrete wall. William’s face is more blood covered than not at this point, so Malik figures he’s had enough. He turns and throws him as hard as he can into the closest table.

Whether William is true to his word or whether he’s actually been knocked unconscious Malik doesn’t know, but the man definitely doesn’t get back up. Malik straightens the lapels of his jacket and stands a little straighter, looking over at Altair for confirmation that the job is done. Altair is watching with an unreadable expression, arms crossed and revolver still in hand. One of William’s employees comes in at the noise of the table breaking and screams when they see the bloody mess on the floor that is their boss.

Malik is worried for half a heartbeat before Altair holsters his revolver back inside his jacket and steps over William to get to the other man. “When he wakes up, let your boss know that Mr. Borgia sends his regards. And he better have the money next time. No more excuses. We will not ask again.” 

Altair turns around to leave and Malik winces a little as he notices a wet spot blooming down the inside of the grocer guy’s pants where he’s clearly just wet himself. Malik follows him out to the car. He lights up a cigarette when he comes out to see that Altair has done the same and is leaning casually against the hood of the car.

“What now?” he asks Altair, exhaling a long puff of smoke that hovers between them for a moment before the breeze carries it off. 

Altair considers him for a long while that starts to make Malik feel nervous before nodding his head towards the car. “We’ve got another stop to make.”

The next shop they pull up to is one of the local butcher shops. They pull up around back and go in the back door, just like the last place. Unlike the last shop, there’s just one man working. He looks up from whatever meat he is carving and sighs. It strikes Malik as odd, but he just follows Altair to the other side of the butcher table. 

“I don’t have time for this. I’m behind on an order,” the butcher tells them, going back to chopping.

Altair doesn’t say anything at first, which seems to be his M.O. He walks casually over to a coat rack beside the door and hangs up his jacket and his hat, he begins rolling up his sleeves before he turns around. It’s the first time Malik has seen him without a hat and the usual shadow over his eyes and he’s struck for a moment by how well the man’s sharp features go together, the brightness of those amber eyes. The moment is almost enough for him not to realize what is happening before it’s too late.

The butcher’s head all but bounces off the meat counter when Altair slams him down. The blood that spurts from the man’s broken face joins the blood already on the meat block until Malik can’t tell which is which. He groans on the floor as Altair takes some rope from the table and starts to bind his hands together in front of him. Malik starts to feel nervous again. Surely they’re just going to rough him up a little, like the last one.

“Help me get him up,” Altair growls out and Malik moves to help him immediately, snapping out of whatever daydream he’d gotten himself into.

They hang the butcher by his hands on one of the meat hooks and Altair steps back again. He pulls the revolver out of the holster that he’s wearing over his shirt and once again goes through the process of checking it over.

“Please,” the butcher starts to beg, voice slightly muffled from the broken nose, “I’ve got kids. Please. You can’t do this.”

Malik is standing behind the butcher, he moves to the side a bit to get a clearer view of Altair and holds his hands out in a placating sort of way. “Altair…” he starts to say, but Altair’s already raising the gun and it’s all happening too fast for Malik to intervene. “Don’t!”

He feels the warm spray of blood across his face and he blinks for a moment in shock. The butcher’s head slumps forward on his chest as Altair lowers the gun and puts it back in its holster. Walking back over to the coat rack, he pulls his coat back on and sets his hat on his head like he didn’t just blow some guy’s head off. Malik is still standing there in surprise, covered in someone else’s blood, as Altair walks by him. He pauses when they’re beside each other, looking straight ahead and not at Malik. “We needed to send a message to the others,” he says by way of an explanation. He leaves. 

Malik has no idea what he’s got himself into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CC and comments are love as always :) Cheers to everyone who left comments, kudos or bookmarked my story. You have my thanks <3
> 
> \- GG


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